Tristan Creepypasta
by Sacredheart99
Summary: An original Sacredheartpasta (my own genre of Creepypasta) about Tristan Fargo. Read, review and tell me what you think. Tristan is my own OC. Enjoy!


Tristan Creepypasta by Sacredheart99

I looked out the window as we drove through the city with our things in tow, saying a mental goodbye to my old life, to my friends that would be left behind. I looked beside me to my little sister Angie who was asleep, poor thing.

She hated long car trips. We passed several miles before we pulled into the driveway of our brand new home, a two story house with ugly pink flamingo things sticking out of the partially dead grass, a rickety wooden fence with the paint peeling skirting the property.

We could have done better.

"Tristan honey, can you help me get everything inside? I'll get Angie inside, poor darling" mom said, undoing her seatbelt and getting out. Ever since dad moved away for his new job at some office building I've been Mr-Man-of-the-House, and it's a pain believe me.

I said "Kay," and got out, grabbing a huge box labeled KITCHEN STUFF and went to the door, standing by the door for Mom to unlock it. Six boxes of stuff later I was done and we were all settled in.

I went upstairs to call dibs on a room when mom called out for me. I had no choice but to run back down the stairs and see what she wanted. I couldn't believe my eyes, dad had parked his new car on the nature strip and had gotten out to hug mom and the now awake Angie.

"Hey Tristan! Guess who's home?" mom said, smiling at me like she had just won the lottery. "Hmm let me see..." I grunted. My dad was a real ass, and only ever came to see us when he needed money or wanted to mess with my head. Both of which we could live without, lazy son of a-

"Hey sport! How's it going buddy?" dad asked, leaning with hands on knees "Since when were we friends?" I asked with a grunt. Mom scolded me and told me and my 'dad' to go play ball in the yard, bonding or some shit. I was about to object but mom stopped me and pointed to the yard. Her word was final.

I looked to dad, who had the smuggest grin (which mom saw as loving) plastered on his face and cussed under my breath before walking with the son of a gun to the yard. He threw some pretty decent throws and I caught most of them. That was until mom went inside, then he threw the ball so it just missed my head. I cussed and ducked in time. He laughed.

"Listen you little fuck, I'm not here to see you or your little bitchy sister either" he began. "When are you ever?" I retorted. He growled but then smiled like the greedy, smug ass he was and said "I see your point Tristan my boy, but tonight mommy's gonna suffer like the bitch she is, and it's all gonna be on you".

That ticked me off big time.

Say what you like about me, but say anything about my family (not dad, you could call him every cuss word ever and I wouldn't care) and you're in for it.

"Watch what you say about my mom you jackass!" I spat, picking up the ball and hurling it as hard as I could at him. Where did it hit you ask? Right where it counts. He fell to the ground screaming in pain, and it was wonderful, but mom came running to him asking what was wrong.

Then I got this strange feeling... like a tugging pain in my chest, but shook it off. Probably just hormones, I am only about eighteen.

He muttered something to mom as she helped him to his feet and I got the most hateful, spiteful, venomous look from mom. She grounded me for a month and sent me to my room with no dinner, bastard father. But it was all my fault.

I could have thrown better.

I was a blessing to my mother the moment I was born, beautiful brown hair and milky-honey skin, not to mention my right eye was green and the left one was blue. Green from my mom and blue from my... my dad.

I always wore greys and whites and blacks, like what my dad called a 'Vampire Goth Freak'. I wore blueish grey jeans too, and sometimes my blood red hoodie. It really did look like fresh blood, at least to me.

I sat on my bed, doona and sheets still to be unpacked when my door opened and a plate with baked potatoes, peas and corn and steak was placed on the floor near the door, closing with a light click. I knew mom couldn't stay mad at me, if she was, there wouldn't be any steak on my plate. She knows I love steak.

I scarfed down dinner and laid down to sleep. I awoke some time later, an hour or two I think. What was that thump? I was curious, but when the muffled scream echoed down the hall I jumped to my feet and peeked through my slightly open door and into the hall. I saw a shadow of somebody cast across the dull grey carpet of the hallway, but nothing else.

 _But tonight mommy's gonna suffer like the bitch she is, and it's all gonna be on you_.

He couldn't have... could he? No, no he's not that insane... is he?

Then I got that strange tugging pain again, but still I shook it off. I had more important things to worry about, like what had happened down there? Was mom ok? I hoped so.

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and decided to go check it out, but it was really cold and I wanted to wear something warmer than my pajamas (consisting of a short sleeve black shirt and my boxers *le blush*). I went to my cupboard, trying not to make a sound as I got out my blood red hoodie and jeans and put them on, followed by my black sneakers.

I crept down the stairs and looked around before sneaking cautiously (was there any other way?) into the lounge room. I stifled a scream when I saw it, my fears confirmed and dread starting to take over my sense of rationality.

Mom lay on the wood floor, skull smashed in and ribbons of brain hanging out and making me want to puke up the contents of my stomach. Blood pooled around her corpse. Her eyes were white and glaring at me, mouth frozen in a silent scream.

I must have stepped back and my sneaker scuffed against the wood or something because he whipped around and saw me from behind the recliner. He held a baseball bat with nails sticking out of the batting end, bloodied with small ribbons of brain clinging to the nails. I tried to run but he grabbed my collar, held me in midair and looked directly into my soul.

"Listen here you little fuck, mommy's dead and her mentally unstable son did it ok? Make sure to tell the police that ok? And if you ask nicely you'll get a nice padded cell and solitary confinement! Ooh, the deluxe package!" he sneered.

He held me up in one hand while raising the bat in the air. I kicked him where it counts and he dropped me, the bat just missing hitting me. I ran down the hall, aiming to escape through a window. Angie...

I ran to her room and found her also smashed to bits, bastard father. I heard him running down the hall and had to find a way out _fast_. Bathroom window! That window only opens when pushed outwards and always locks tight, an easy escape route.

I ran as fast as I could and locked the bathroom door shut, my dad banging on the door violently. It wouldn't, couldn't, hold him for long so I had to hurry. Mom's cleaning stuff blocked the way out so I had to climb up onto the sink and try to move them. Bad move.

I slipped and fell back, trying to grab onto something to stop my fall but grabbed the bleach container by accident. I managed to grab onto the towel rack and threw a folded towel to break my fall, but the bleach lid flew off and the contents splashed all over my face and the rest of me. I screamed.

It burnt like hell, and I couldn't see a thing. I wiped my eyes as best I could before throwing myself through the window, just in time to avoid my father breaking the door down and grabbing my ankle. I landed on the partially dead grass and turned to face the house, the feeling of dread overtaking my sense of rationality.

I knew he'd follow me if I faltered and didn't run, but I ran. I ran faster than I knew I could. I ducked under a hedge and ran down the street till I came to a dead end alley with a huge green stinking dumpster against the wall, garbage overflowing from the unclosable lit. I hid beside it, the stinking thing obstructing anybody's view of me from outside the alley.

I held my breath for two reasons. One, even the slightest noise could give me away and two, it reeked like hell. I heard him come closer, footsteps echoing against the sound of police sirens in the distance and the ambience of LA at night.

I could see his shadow dance across the tarmac into my view, still holding the baseball bat that murdered my family. I closed my eyes and prayed for someone, anyone to save me.

I don't wanna die at eighteen.

My eyes shot open to the sound of a pained scream, my father's scream. Then, a wet sound hit my ears, like a knife withdrawing from flesh, at least that's what it sounded like to me. Two emotions hit me at the same time. Curiosity, I wanted to find out what made the noise. Was he dead?

And the other being dread, if he was dead... did that mean whatever killed him would kill me next? What if whatever that was, or whoever, found me? I'd either be thanking them or running. I swallowed my fear and brought myself to peek around the dumpster and saw the silhouette of the figure, back turned to me.

The figure turned around and saw me, ah crap. I backed into the alley, realizing that I was trapped a second later. Well, I'll find out which of my theories was correct soon enough, I thought. The figure blocked off the entrance to the alley and soon spotted me backed against the chain fence in the middle of the alley.

"Hey kid, you ok?" he asked. Definitely a male, about five foot something with long hair. My voice caught in my throat "Hey kid, I asked are you ok? Are you retarded or something?" the guy insulted. I gained a bit of confidence.

"I'm fine, thanks for asking. So is... is he" I began.

"Dead, yep. Dead as a doormat, thanks to yours truly. He didn't seem all that friendly, and I felt like a little killing anyway" the guy said with a hint of humor in his voice. "You kill for fun? That's... that's so sick" I said.

"Meh, you get used to it. It's actually really fun. So, what's your name kid?" the guy asked, wiping the kitchen knife in his hand on his jeans. "Tristan," I calmly said, hiding the anxiety in my voice. He nodded "Nice, well I trust you know me" he said, stepping into the light. I shuddered.

He was male, wearing a white hoodie stained with red, black pants and black sneakers. His strangely glossy black hair reached his shoulder blades, eyes like dinner plates ringed in black skin. His most stand-out feature was a smile that consumed more of his face than a smile ever could, or _should_.

"Oh my god... so you do exist..." was all I could say to him. He smiled and I felt a little queasy "Duh" he said "so why was he chasing you?" he asked me. I was about to answer when he spoke up "Well I don't really care, but did you always look like that?" he asked, pointing to my face.

"Like what?" I asked weakly.

He held the flat of his knife up to my face like a mirror, though a little smudged by sticky red stuff. I felt sick to my stomach. My hair had been drained of any color, leaving it pure white and my eyes weren't green/blue anymore... but an eerie shade of gold, ringed in strange black skin. I still had my milky-honey skin though... thank God.

"Well it's been nice but I gotta run, seeya" he said, turning to leave.

I must be crazy, I thought "Hey wait..."

He turned around "What?"

I gathered my confidence and took a deep breath "C-can I come with you?"

That tugging pain again... stronger.

His demonic eyes darted across the floor as if he was thinking. He looked up at me curiously, a hint of some strange emotion in those icy cold black eyes. He nodded once, turning and walking off with me in tow. Here I come Los Angeles.


End file.
